Sunday, June 22, 2014

I've wanted to write books my whole life. Back when I was little I imagined flipping through a card catalogue and the excitement of seeing my name. (Back when they had card catalogues.) It wasn't about money or being famous or watching my book being turned into a film. It was about writing a book and having it live on a library shelf, available to anyone.

Now of course - sure, money would be nice. The book as a film would be amazing. The famous part, I'm still not interested in that. But what I'd never thought about before was how nervous I would be. The book comes out in less than two weeks. People approach me and say, "Aren't you excited?" and I smile. "Of course." But I can't explain the butterflies in my stomach. Not exactly butterflies. More like giant crawling lizards with sharp claws trying to crawl their way up my throat. (Hey - that could be my second book.)

Of course I'm thrilled. And I still can't believe it. Maybe that's what the fear is about - this isn't really happening and on July 1st someone will ring the doorbell and when I open it a man with a video camera on his shoulder will smile at me and say, "Surprise! You've been punked."

I need to own it. My first novel is coming out. I'll take a deep breath (and/or a Xanax), thank all the people who helped me get to this place, relax and enjoy the experience.